Warrior

Eli turned at his voice, and whickered. She came up to the door of the box and put her nose out to him. Hervey took her head in his left hand and rubbed her muzzle with his right. 'Well, my girl, how good it is to see you. I hope you still have your sea legs.'

'She'll 'ave em, sir, right enough. I 'eard we were goin, an' I've been puttin Stock'ollum on 'er feet.'

Hervey nodded approvingly.

'And on Molly's,' added Toyne, turning to the adjacent box. 'She went lame a bit when you were gone, sir, but it were nothin' really – just a week's box rest an' she were back on t'road soon enough.'

Molly did not immediately turn, finding the hay rack altogether more compelling than her master's voice. It was in any case not nearly as familiar to her as it was to Eli, for Hervey had bought her only just before leaving England, and although she had carried him faithfully at Umtata they were not yet truly acquainted. Molly was nearer black than dark bay (she had certainly looked so in her summer coat and a good sweat), and stood half a hand higher than Eli. She had been an officer's charger, in the Tenth, a good five years before coming to him, and at rising twelve she was a sound prospect for what lay ahead.

He watched her calmly grinding the hay. 'I've a hack from the castle, but I shall take him back tonight, and then tomorrow I'll take her out,' he said, reaching forward to pat her quarters.

'She'd like that, sir.'

Hervey nodded again. Would she like it? Would she know it was he riding her? Eli would; and Jessye would have, certainly . . . Would he take Molly with him to Canada? And Eli? Would he take Toyne with him? It could be arranged, no doubt. Johnson would most definitely come with him, although he had not really told him yet. That is, they had not discussed it. Johnson had so much reckonable service that he could have his free discharge at any time, and he could easily re-enlist in the Eighty-first if there were any administrative objection to his transfer. He would promote him corporal, too. Johnson had always refused promotion on the grounds that it brought 'responsibility' (by which he really meant the scrutiny of the RSM) without any benefit save a few shillings a week. But without rank, in the Eighty-first he would not have the standing.

As he left the charger stables, Hervey began wondering again who else he might be allowed to claim for his new command.Would he be able to tempt an officer or two? There again, what would it profit them? The only ones he knew well enough to be sure of – sure in his estimation that they would be better than those with whom they might exchange – were two or three of the captains, and why would they exchange a troop for a company, the spur for the gaiter? For they were all of sufficient means to be comfortable in Hounslow. It was not as if there was the prospect of any action in Canada.

Somervile was not returned from office when Hervey called at the residence. Jaswant showed him to Emma's sitting room.

'Matthew, what a pleasing surprise. Shall you join us for dinner?' she asked as they kissed.

'No, forgive me, Emma; I must dine with my officers. I came but briefly to speak with Somervile about the arrangements for Natal.'

'I expect him in an hour. He sent word that he was receiving someone from the frontier. Will you have some wine?'

'Thank you, yes.'

Emma nodded to the khansamah.

'I much enjoyed the table last night,' Hervey said, taking a chair at Emma's bidding. 'The ship's fare was a little unvarying. And I was most engaged by Colonel Smith and his wife.'

'Oh, indeed yes; they are a most welcome adornment to the Cape. I quite wish we were to stay longer.'

Hervey had almost forgotten the Somerviles were to leave the colony in not many months. Or rather, he had failed to imagine all the consequences of it. 'I did not ask: Eyre will return to the court of directors?' Somervile was principally a servant of the Honourable East India Company. The two of them had first met in Madras, ten years before, and renewed their friendship in Calcutta when the Sixth had been posted to the Bengal presidency; and they had continued it on return to London.

Emma looked surprised. 'He did not say? We are to go to Canada.'

Hervey brightened, like a child given a present. 'Canada!'

Emma looked at him a little strangely. 'Ye-es. Eyre is to be lieutenant-governor, minister, or whatever it is called there, in Fort York.'

Hervey smiled broadly. 'My dear Emma, you will forgive me if I ask you to keep this to yourself – I mean, I will tell Somervile of course – but I too am to go to York. I am to have command of the Eighty-first there.'

Emma positively beamed. 'That is wonderful news, Matthew! Wonderful! I know now that I shall have agreeable company. You and Kezia . . . the most agreeable thing!'

Hervey was tempted to tell Emma that to this date Kezia had set her mind against Canada, but . . . it would not help him, nor would it please her. And there was every chance that Kezia would have a change of mind in the matter.

But they had known each other too long, and his face betrayed something of his unease. 'What is it, Matthew?'

He cleared his throat. There was no point in pretence. 'Kezia is not yet persuaded to go . . . But I have every hope she will change her mind in the normal course of things, and especially once she knows that you will be there.'

Emma looked dismayed. 'You mean that you will otherwise go alone?'

Hervey shifted in his chair. Jaswant returned with wine (for which he was now especially grateful). 'I . . . That is . . . She has not said that she will not accompany me to Canada, merely that, when I spoke with her about the offer of the Eighty-first, she did not wish me to accept command.'

Emma's brow was now deeply furrowed. 'But you have said yes to command – have you not?'

'I have. These things are always somewhat provisional, of course.'

She shook her head, uncomprehending.

'I had but little time before returning here.'

'Not the time to speak with your wife?'

He shifted again. 'No.'

Emma studied him carefully. 'Matthew?'

He looked away, and raised an eyebrow the merest fraction.

It was enough, however. Emma rose.

'Matthew, I must go to the children; it is the nursery hour. Perhaps you would come tomorrow morning, when you have spoken to Eyre?'

That night, after an unusually abstemious dinner in the officers' house (he had felt an unaccountable reluctance to give way to the pleasures of the cellar), he retired to the little room that was permanently made up for him, and seeing there was pen and paper as well as brandy and water on the table (in proper regimental fashion), he sat down to write a few lines to Kezia. He knew he ought to have done so a day or two out from the Cape so that Armstrong could carry them back – as he had with letters to his family (and, if truth be known, to Kat) – but somehow the words had evaded him. He had, after all, written not many days out from England, and then again off the Azores, and the letters had been transferred to passing merchantmen, so he was not wholly to be thought inattentive in the matter. It was just that . . .